


Wavering Control

by Bruadarach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Blood, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Demonic Possession, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, My First Work in This Fandom, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruadarach/pseuds/Bruadarach
Summary: Dean, having murdered the Styne Family, returned to the bunker in order to kill the remaining two members. Castiel arrives and makes a valiant effort to calm his bloodthirsty companion, but his efforts do nothing to sate Dean's hunger for revenge.A one shot that I thought of after watching season ten, episode twenty two 'The Prisoner'.





	

Dean's eyes were fierce as he stared down the pleading gaze of the beaten and bloodied angel beneath him. The being's features were swollen and bruised, his cheeks littered with cuts and open sores from the beating he'd endured. The Winchester surveyed his work, having erased the features of his beloved friend, Castiel, who was almost unrecognizable in his current state. He felt no remorse, no guilt, only irritation. He could see the confusion and hurt in Castiel's face, watching as the angel struggled to speak.  
  
"Dean…" Castiel sputtered, blood seeping from between his lips. "Please… Dean…"  
  
Dean's gaze was empty as his eyes locked with the angel's own, causing Castiel to shudder in fear. Though the being before him seemed familiar – appeared to be his friend – this monster was not Dean.  
  
"You're better than this…" he said, struggling to breathe. "You're stronger than that mark…"  
  
The angel's eyes shifted to Dean's left forearm where the mark of Cain rested, its scarred form glowing a violent red. Dean looked towards the brand, watching as it came alive, sending red, hot tendrils up and down his arm. Beneath his skin he could see them shifting and moving, causing slight discomfort as the mark begged for more bloodshed.  
  
"You know this isn't you. It's the mark. You can fight it…" Castiel's voice trailed off. "You have before…"  
  
Dean's brows furrowed, his hand clenching into a fist. He sent the fist into Castiel's nose, feeling the bone breaking beneath the force of his attack. The mark warmed with delight, easing Dean's discomfort ever so slightly. Castiel lay still, his eyes now locked onto the ceiling, vision blurring in and out as his host's body tried to comprehend everything that had transpired. Before he could speak, Dean was on him once more, sending another fist into his numbed skull. Over and over he struck, Castiel only feeling pressure and vibrations from each attack, his nerves accustomed to the pain. After a moment, Dean backed off, taking several small steps back. He wiped a small amount of sweat from his brow, the blood on his hand leaving a dark streak of red on his skin.  
  
"Dean…" Castiel said, his voice cracking as he spoke. He felt warm liquid pooling inside his throat, his lungs coughing up the build up as he choked. "… Please."  
  
Dean's eyes darted from his fallen comrade, scanning around the room for a tool, or a weapon. After a moment, his eyes fell upon Castiel's angel blade, which lay resting against a fallen stack of books. He walked over and picked it up with his left hand, sending the mark into a bloodthirsty frenzy. It pulsed and warmed as Dean's hands grasped the chromed metal, begging him to kill the angel. Over and over it send images of it's desires into Dean's mind, showing him many creative ways to go about the deed. Dean's hand shook violently as he processed these thoughts.  
  
Castiel lifted his head, his blurred gaze slowly scanning for Dean's form. "Dean…" he said, though what came out was little more than a whisper. Dean looked over at him and readied his weapon. He stepped closer, placing a foot on either side of Castiel's body. He knelt down, his face inches from the angel's own. He lifted the blade, his mind thinking of where to strike. Castiel lifted his head and kissed Dean as best he could, leaving a small mark of blood on the Winchester's lips. "I can see it in your eyes, Dean…" he whimpered. "You know this is the mark's doing… but you're blaming yourself. It's not you… and it's not too late to stop."  
  
In this moment, Castiel did not fear for his own life. He would die for Dean; had died for Dean. What he feared was losing his friend to the will of the mark. Castiel's gesture had appeared to have done nothing, but silently Dean's mind was in chaos. The mark was aching, urging him to go through with it, but his heart was telling him to stop and walk away. He gripped the blade tighter as his hand began to shake, much harder than before.  
  
"I can't…" he muttered. "I can't stop."  
  
Castiel's face, though covered in wounds, appeared to brighten with hope as he heard Dean's voice. "Yes you can!" he replied matter of factly.  
  
"No…" Dean replied. He raised the blade with his left hand and pushed Castiel down with his right. "I can't."  
  
With one swift motion, Dean sent the blade down towards Castiel, the angel's eyes widening in horror as the blade missed it's mark… inches from his face. The blade shook from the force of the impact, the metal reverberating quietly as it slowed to a stop. Dean stood above him, his eyes empty and dark as he watched the angel slowly turn his head to look at the weapon.  
  
"No." Dean growled, his voice low and quiet as he spoke to himself.  
  
Castiel's vision worsened, no longer able to discern the difference between the blade, inches away from his face, and the leg of the table, standing a foot or two away. He turned to look up at Dean, his head heavy and difficult to move. The figure before him was nothing but a blurred silhouette, indiscernible in Castiel's current state. His mind was weaving in and out of darkness, uncertain if time was passing, or standing still.  
  
"Dean...?" he groaned, his voice barely audible.

"I can't." he growled, continuing to talk to himself. "I can't."  
  
Castiel couldn't see him, but Dean looked absolutely disgusted with himself. His brows were furrowed tightly, his eyes closed, no longer able to look at the damage he had done to his friend. He glared down at the mark, which in turn burned his skin with white, hot fury at its host's decision to stop the ritual before it was completed. Dean was not going to allow the mark to control him any longer. He would get rid of it, one way or another, and he would do it on his own. He was done hurting the ones he loved. He turned away, his hand scratching violently at his skull as he walked. Castiel could hear Dean's footsteps growing more and more faint, trailing away into the ringing silence.  
  
"Dean..." he tried to call out, but his throat was only able to let out a small cough.

He was frightened, unsure of what was happening to his body. He'd never experienced such pain, such brutality. Though he knew it wasn't Dean that had done this to him, he couldn't help but become fearful of the hunter. The man had snapped, out of nowhere, and done so much damage, not only to Castiel, but to the entire Styne family, and an innocent boy. Castiel's eyes began to water, his vision becoming a swirling pool of nausea. He closed his eyes and wept silently, begging for someone to find and help him - to do what he could not... to help Dean.


End file.
